


Washs adventure of being put to bed

by Yuhi_san



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed, Wash needs sleep, tuckingtonbedsharingweek2k16
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 19:49:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7858825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuhi_san/pseuds/Yuhi_san
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Carolina tries to do something about Washs lack of sleep in Blood Gulch style.</p><p>Of course, things don’t go as planned but Tucker isn’t going to complain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Washs adventure of being put to bed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saltsanford](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltsanford/gifts).



> For two prompts I saw on saltsanfords tumblr (which I will link as soon as I figure out how to). One about Tucker and Wash having to share a bed and the other about the guys locking Wash in to get sleep once. That's what happens.

“ _Wash_.” The way Carolina says his name almost has Washington shifting with a sense of unease. It’s almost as bad as when she does that head tilt of hers that tells you to better stop doing whatever you were doing. The thing is, Wash hasn’t been doing anything. Not that he would know of at least.

“Look, I’m just finishing these reports and then maybe-"

“And maybe what? Working on the new training schedule?”

Wash pauses, pursing his lips. It’s not what he was going to say, of course, but it certainly had been on his mind. Carolina looms in the doorway and Wash is starting to feel weary and suspicious.

“I- no. Not quite. Why would you ask?” he wonders. “Is something the matter?”

Carolina approaches him now, the steps of her heavy boots loud in the small and dark room, lit only by the little light on the desk. She slowly and deliberately set her helmet down on the table in front of Wash and scans his features thoroughly. _This_ now does make Wash shift a bit. Carolina just has this way of looking at you with these intense green eyes that make you feel as if she looks right inside your thoughts.

“When is the last time you slept?”

So, that’s what this is about? Wash exhales long and loud before he lays his data pad down and leans back in the chair. He glances at Carolina and tries not to give the impression that he has to seriously think about it. Maybe his brain is getting a little tired at his point. Carolina can tell anyway as it seems because she frowns deeply at him.

“You know how talkative Caboose can get. He was very eager to tell me how he and his team from the night shift happened to see you in the training room last night. And I’m pretty sure Simmons mentioned seeing you in the armory early in the morning already.” She puts both her hands on the table and leans closer, apparently feeling the need to emphasize that she was not the slightest amused, in case her tone and facial expression wasn’t telling enough. “And seeing how your daily schedule is pretty full all the time, can you tell me _exactly_ how many hours you haven’t slept?"

He can’t come up with the answer right away and clearly that’s all the answer Carolina needs. She’s not wrong, Wash has to admit. It feels like forever since his last nap and he does feel extremely tired. He'd had to read the reports he's been working on a number of times to be sure he knew what they were about. He rakes both hands through his blonde hair that is in dire need of a cut, messing it up even more.

“Look, I know I haven’t gotten a lot of sleep during the past few days,” he tries to explain and thinks he shouldn’t sound guilty about this. It’s not like he’s doing anything wrong, after all.

Carolina waits for him to go on, all unhappy frowns and disappointed stares. “It’s just that there is so much going on that needs my attention and after how the last mission with the guys almost ended in a bloody disaster, I just want to make sure… want to make sure things go right, you know?” Something in Carolina's gaze shifts, and while Wash can’t quite name it, he decides he doesn’t like it at all.

“Wash, have you even _tried_ to sleep?”

Wash raises an eyebrow, partly at her tone and partly at the question itself. Instead of a direct answer, he gestures down at the loose shirt and sweatpants he's wearing.

Carolina sighs, loud and heavy, before pinching the bridge of her nose. “Alright, I give you that one. So you went to bed, at least. And then what? You got up again and came back to this sorry excuse for a com room to finish working on the reports?” She gestures to his data pad. “I’m pretty sure this doesn’t need your immediate attention. In fact, I’m pretty sure you don’t _have_ a lot of attention left to give.”

Wash doesn’t immediately answer and instead narrows his eyes. He’s starting to become suspicious of this conversation. He knows his sleeping schedule isn’t the best and it’s not like the guys haven’t been on his back about it already. They were constantly making hints and jokes about how he needed sleep or looked like a zombie or whatever. Same with reminding him to grab dinner—or in Donut and Tuckers case, sometimes even bringing him some. It was their way of showing they cared, and while Wash is often annoyed by it, he does appreciate their care.  
What he also appreciated was that Carolina usually stayed out of his business. There must be a catch on why she was starting to lecture him on his sleeping schedule.

“True, but I have to do it eventually. So I’m just putting my insomnia to good use.”

He can already tell by the way Carolina tilts her head back and stares at the ceiling that this excuse won’t get him anywhere.

“Carolina, I don’t see why you're suddenly prying into this to begin with. I’m fine. I’m a grown man that can take care of himself.”

“Right,” Carolina says. Something changes in her posture, as if she just rapidly changed her mind. She pushes herself away from the table then starts to round it. “You are a grown man that cannot handle his sleeping schedule or you would be in bed right now.” Wash shifts and stiffens at her approach, unsure how to react or what to expect of this. “You need to sleep, Wash. You need a break, because you are going to wear yourself out and that isn’t going to help anyone.” Without another word, she takes the data pad and shuts it off.

“Now, off to bed with you.”

Wash gapes at Carolina, who just attempted to put him to bed like a little child. Once his overly tired brain processes that yes, that just happened, Wash reaches for his data pad. Carolina is faster, and holds it out of his reach. As if he _were_ a god damn child, really.

“You know I can’t just lay down and sleep,” Wash protests, glaring at his friend. She has to see that he isn’t even lying about this.

“You will sleep once you don’t have any excuses to keep you awake.” To emphasize her point, Carolina waves Wash's data pad. “Let’s go now. Will you just come along or do I have to drag you?”

There is no need for her to say, "I can and I will,’ because Wash already knows that, but she does anyway. He tries to come up with some kind of remark – any, really – and fails. He wonders then why he even bothers to try. She’s wearing power armor and besides, he’s seen her haul _Maine_ over her shoulder.

“Fine.” Wash snorts resentfully, but he gives in, knowing he doesn’t have much of a choice. Agitated, Wash pushes himself out of his chair and-

Immediately regrets the vigor he put into it, as dark spots expand in his vision and his whole world shifts and tilts for a moment or two. Wash grips tightly onto the table to steady himself and blinks a few times. Carolina is already at the door and waiting more or less patiently for him to follow. Determined to not to show that he is, indeed, not feeling that well anymore, Wash takes a few deep breaths before reluctantly following Carolina.

 

He’s still not sure what her sudden and odd behavior is about, but he will figure it out eventually. And if not, that is fine as well. He can still just go to his room and maybe lay down and close his eyes for a couple of minutes before he finishes his work. That should be fine. Sleep wasn’t going to come anyway and even if, it would be fitful and leave him more exhausted than before. Better use the time efficiently, right?

The two Freelancer walk through the hallway in silence and Wash let his thoughts wander. Chorus was a mess in more than one way. It was a planet that fought a civilian war for years, cut off from the rest of the galaxy. If there was one thing the people here learned from it, then it was the ability to improvise. Sure, there were military facilities, but they neither provided enough storage room nor the number of quarters the army needed these days. What passed for a mess hall now had been a shopping center's food court a long time ago. What once had been a sports arena was now their storage unit, and provided training rooms for large groups. Half the facilities they used for quarters were former college dorm rooms.

The other half were former prison cells.

Normally that didn’t bother Wash, and he didn’t feel like he was in jail here. It wasn’t one of those nineteenth century prisons with iron bars everywhere that you saw in old movies. Neither was it the kind of high security prisons he had the pleasure of inhabiting already. In fact, it barely even resembled a prison anymore. At this point, the building looked more like an absurdly elaborate bunkhouse.

Now however, having his data pad confiscated by Carolina and following her along the hallway, he feels an odd sense of déjà vu. One he does not like at all.

When they reach the point where Carolina should turn right to get to her quarters and just goes straight as Wash has to, he stops.

“Alright, don’t you think this is getting ridiculous?”

Carolina has the most impassive look on her face when she turns to look at him. “I just want to make sure you actually go to bed and don’t just turn around and go find just something to do. Like checking in with the guards or doing your personal training you slacked on. Or maybe even get some fresh air in full armor right outside the armory. Or getting late lunch when the canteen is already closed? Should I go on?” He voice is perfectly neutral while she lists these things off but it sounds all too specific. Wash starts to suspect that the guys must have mentioned more than a thing or two to her, then.  
“So either you just go and get your sleep now or I _will_ drag you there. 

Wash stares at her, again. He starts to wonder if he really is this sleep deprived, or if Carolina took a hit to the head that has her acting so off. Either way, this feels like a parallel universe. Nothing he can deal with now. Or ever, to be honest.

“Okay. Alright,” Wash says airily, brings up his hands. “I’ll just go outside for a walk. Get my head clean from- from whatever this actually is.” He turns sharply on his heels to walk away from the scene.

He doesn’t get further than a couple steps before he hears Carolina's exasperated, " _Oh for god's sake."_ Her strong grip on his upper arm doesn’t really surprise him, but he jumps nonetheless.

“Hey, what the hell, Carolina! Let go of me!”

She doesn’t, of course, and every struggle from Wash is just wasted energy. In addition to be unable to find any real energy to break her hold, Carolina has the advantage of wearing power armor. With a sudden flash of anxiety, Wash realizes just how helpless and at someone's mercy he is in this state. Wash struggles again to free his arms but with more effort this time. Carolina doesn’t give in and her hand stays on his arm, firm but not anywhere near forceful or even painful.

 _It’s Carolina_ , Wash reminds himself. _It’s not like she has any intention to harm you, you fool._

Either she doesn’t notice or just doesn’t mention his odd reaction because all she says is, “Let’s go.”

Wash glares at her but follows, mostly because he literally has no other choice. He’s not sure which metaphor fits better right now; the one of a naughty child sent to bed, or the one of a prisoner brought back to his cell. He’s not sure which one he finds worse.

“Can you at least explain to me what is going on? I just- I don’t understand why you're suddenly meddling with my sleeping schedule.”

“We all agree that you need sleep, Wash. Urgently. And at this point it’s either this or letting Dr. Grey handle the problem. And I’m sure you wouldn’t want _that_ , now would you?”

Wash has a million things to say to this, but he fails to deliver. Partly because he’s far too tired to have this conversation and partly because Carolina just went too far.

“That’s not right,” Wash tells her, or tries to, because Carolina just keeps walking.

“Maybe not, but you don’t leave us with a lot of options, Wash.”

“What? No, that’s not… ” Wash looks back over his shoulder and watches one door after another pass by them. When he starts to stumble he’s forced to turn back just as they pass a couple of lockers and reach the door at the very end of the hallway.

“Carolina-”

“No. I gave you the chance to be reasonable about it but it seems that, for once, they are right. You need a good push into the right direction.”

Wash has no idea what the hell Carolina is doing and apparently, neither does she. He watches in a mixture of confusion, horror and sleep deprivation at how Carolina pushes the door open. “You are off for whatever is on your schedule for the next day, so don’t even bother. Just. Stay and sleep.”

Before Wash gets the chance to recover from his state of shock and tell Carolina that she is about to make a terrible mistake, he finds himself shoved into the room. The door falls shut behind him, plunging the room into darkness.

“Hold on you can’t just-” he spins around but his words get drowned out by the metal scraping noise from outside. Alarmed, Wash yanks the door back open and-

Finds himself facing the metal back of the whole fucking locker block. He stares at it blankly for several seconds, trying to will his tired brain into processing this correctly. It still comes to the conclusion that yes, Carolina just trapped him in this room with a locker block.

“Hey!” in a moment of delirium and maybe – _maybe_ – lack of sleep Wash hits the backside of the locker with his flat hand. “Hey!”

“Dude, what the hell is going on?”

This. This is exactly the reason why he’s absolutely and entirely certain that Carolina has no idea what she just did. Wash hurriedly closes the door and then turns slowly, slowly, to face the actual inhabitant of the room. He clears his throat awkwardly.

“Hello, Captain Tucker.”

 

Tucker is popped up on his elbows and stares at Wash almost as if he just saw a ghost. The room is only illuminated by the faint light from Chorus moons that falls through the small window, and it’s just enough for him to see the silhouette of the other man, the white of his eyes bright. He blinks a couple of times before he shakes his head, dreads flying wildly from one side to the other. He looks from Wash, to the window, to his clock and then back to Wash. “It’s not time to get up, is it?”

He sounds uncertain enough to smother some of Wash's nerves. Almost, at least. Wash still stands with his back against the door, stiff and uneasy and feeling incredibly ridiculous. “No, no. That’s not why I’m here” he says hastily.

Once the words seem to be processed by Tucker, he sits more upright and gives him a bright grin, teeth flashing in the dark. “Oh-oh! So you’re here to give me a present? 

Even though Wash can practically hear Tucker waggle with his eyebrow, it’s his turn to stare blankly for a number of seconds. “What.” Wash says, still not entirely sure of what he heard. As an answer Tucker now basically wiggles his whole body and his meaning finally clicks in Wash's mind.

“No! Jesus Christ, no! That’s- I… why would you think that?” In his agitation, Wash still manages to find a second to be thankful he did not turn on the lights yet and that the darkness can swallow the obvious bright flush of his face. It does not, however, cover how his voice goes all high and shrill.

The worst is that Wash can see what Tucker means. This is what probably most soldiers imagine after a while in the army. Getting an unexpected sexy late night visit and to have a wild time. But people would imagine a hot, good-looking girl, probably with nice curves and beautiful hair and not, well, someone like him. A guy with scars and dark cycles under the eyes, with messy hair and freckles all over and more issues than he can even count.

It’s not that he never imagined something like that either, so he’s not really the one to judge if Tucker did it as well. Even if Tucker certainly belonged into the ‘imagining hot chick with fantastic curves category.’ And Wash… Wash belonged into an entirely different category. At least on the few occasions where he found his mind wandering to…

 _Backtrack, backtrack_ , Wash berates himself furiously. _Keep your mind on the actual problem._

Tuckers laugh is loud and frank and completely cheerful. Wash likes Tucker's laugh because it’s like everything else about him, honest and nice. He would like it more now though, if the joke wasn’t on him. Tucker's laugh evens out to a low chuckle before it finally stops and he flops back on the bed again, holding his belly.  
“Oh my god, Wash, chill.” He gasps and struggles to sit back up. “I’m just screwing with you. Dude, you get wound up so easily. I can see you fidgeting from over here.”

Wash feels his flush go all the way down his neck. He’s starting to feel increasingly stupid. Especially because he notices that he indeed _has_ been fidgeting, his fingers nervously taping against his legs. This needs to stop right here and now. ”Look, there is nothing weird going on.” As soon as the words leave his mouth Wash realizes how incredibly stupid they are because this is not just weird, it’s outright _bizarre._

“Okay, now calm down, Wash. Before you have stroke or something. Just, you know, tell me what the heck just happened.” Tucker moves on his bed until he sits with his back to the wall but still is comfy under the covers. When Wash doesn’t say anything right away he loosely gestures to the now empty spot. “You, uh, wanna sit down or something?”

Wash still hesitates and first focusses on stilling his nervous fingers. “I- I don’t even know,” he says finally, the words spilling out in a rush. “I was just finishing some paperwork when Carolina suddenly showed up and literally dragged me away to get some sleep and then- then she bullied me in here and blocked the door with the locker block.” He can feel how he’s working himself up about this but he can’t stop thinking about how this must look to Tucker. God, what must he be _thinking?_  

Apparently, something completely different than what Wash was imagining, because after a few moments of blank staring Tucker's face splits into a grin again. “That sounds more as if she wanted to give us seven minutes in… wait. The locker block, you said?”

Wash takes a step to the side and opens the door. Instead of the dim light from the hallway, there is just the dark back of the locker block covering the whole door frame.

“Oh. Uh. Wow, that looks like a clear message.”

Just like Tucker, Wash stares at the wall of heavy metal that blocks his way out of the small room – _Tucker's_ small room – and won’t budge if he were to try and move it. The sudden need to _get out_ swells in Wash's chest, and he turns to stare out of the small open window.

The small open window with bars in front of it.

He’s suddenly hyper aware of how trapped he is with no way out of this really small space. Not until someone decides to let him out. He’s going to have to sit still until someone lets him out and he can’t just walk out on his own and the window has bars and-

“Wash.”

Tucker's voice is firm and calm and yet it’s warm as well. It is enough to snap Wash out of whatever hysteric depths his thoughts were about to sink into. He tears his eyes away from the small window and looks at Tucker, who's leaned over to switch on the little light on his bedside table. It’s nothing but an old weak lightbulb at this point but it blinds Wash's eyes still as he looks right into it. Wash raises his hand to shade his eyes and blinks away the dark spots from his sight.

“Are you okay? You kinda look… I dunno… like you're gonna freak out.”

Wash narrows his eyes as he notices how Tucker shifts on his bed, almost as if he were the nervous one. He fiddles awkwardly with the blanket in his lap and hardly manages to keep eye contact with Wash, yet he refuses to look away from him.

“I mean, no offense but… I really hope you're just blustering yourself up about this and you’re not like, really, really freaking out… cause, you know, I’m not sure if I know how to properly handle that.” His beautiful dark eyes flicker nervously and they can’t quite stay on Wash's face, but always return to it. “Like, dude, I get that you are not happy about all of this. But it’s not that terrible, is it?”

It’s the worry and uncertainty that is heavy in Tucker that really settles something in Wash, makes him pause and think. Wash closes his eyes briefly before he looks around again in the now illuminated room. It’s still small, clearly, the window still has bars in front and the door is still blocked by the locker-

But there is also a cool breeze coming from the window and the door isn’t locked per say and it’s not that he’s left here to rot by Carolina. He’s not even alone here—Tucker, sincere and caring and brave Tucker, is here as well.

Tucker does have a point. It’s not that bad, Wash realizes suddenly. His face heats up even more than before and he feels like such an idiot for almost freaking out about things that were barely there. He has to get that back under control asap, preferably along with his stupid, stupid gushing thoughts about Tucker.

“I- no, no it’s not that bad” he manages to say finally when he notices that Tucker is still looking at him in concern. “It’s just- I don’t get what the hell Carolina was thinking. I mean…” he gestures vaguely around the room. “This is just weird in every possible way.”

The worry washes from Tucker's face in an instant and is replaced with a barely contained smirk. “I don’t know, man. Sounds like drastic times calling for drastic measures. I mean, have you seen your face in the mirror lately?”

Washington has, in fact, not seen himself in a mirror lately. His morning bathroom routine is kept to a minimum and honestly, he doesn’t have that much of a need to see his own tired face. He knows what he looks like.  
“Well, then, this majorly backfired,” Wash huffs. He’s already looking for something to busy himself with for the rest of the night. After all, the bed is already occupied by its owner. The small table in the other corner is occupied with armor pieces and a few clothes and other junk. So much for that.

“Don’t even think about it. It’s like one fucking a.m which means it’s sleep time.”

Wash looks back at Tucker, who is still sitting cross legged on the bed with his legs tangled in the thin sheets. He yawns and stretches his arms over his head, arching his back as he does so. Wash doesn’t know if it’s on purpose or if it’s just _Tucker_ that makes this look forbidden and erotic with the way his building muscles stand out under his skin—his dark, beautiful skin that always tempts Wash's mind into wondering if it would feel as smooth as it looks. Makes him want to run his fingers along-

“I know I’m hot so if you are done staring at me mind moving over and laying down?”

“Moving over,” Wash repeats dumbly, once he gives himself a mental slap. “And laying down.” He really suspects that Tucker is fucking with him, but then again, the guy has a poker face worse than York and there is not even the hint of a smirk pulling at his lips. “Tucker, I- lay down _where_?” he asks after getting himself back under control at least a bit.

As an answer, Tucker pulls up the blanket to his chest and wiggles over towards the wall in a manner so comical Wash almost forgets what this is about while he watches. Tucker pats the free space on the bed next to him. “Uh, here obviously?”

 

There must be something Tucker sees in his face – most likely something Wash doesn’t want to know – because he gives the most annoyed, longest and loudest sigh possible. “It’s okay, we can share,” he tells Wash, waving his hand dismissively. “I know you kind of got a stick up your ass most of the time, but have you never shared the couch or a bed with someone when you crashed at a party? It’s not weird at all.“

Wash realizes he has serious trouble with processing all this information.  
It’s not that he never shared sleeping places with someone, but that was a long time ago, longer even than Epsilon and Freelancer. The crux here is that back then he had a lot more alcohol in his blood and a lot less inappropriate thoughts in his head.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Tucker. I mean the bed is pretty small and you know my sleeping routine. I might accidentally punch you or something.” Or something way worse than that. He shifts uneasily as he tries to come up with an excuse that won’t sound melodramatic or just plain pathetic. “I don’t want you to end up hurt. Besides, I can just get a nap in the morning before-”

“Oh my fucking god,” Tucker falls back on his bed with a groan and manages somehow to do this more dramatically than Wash thought possible. He’s quick to prop himself back up again though. “I _know_ , Wash. I know, okay? Having an uneasy sleep doesn’t even begin to cover what your problem is and you’re afraid you'll end up hurting me or anyone in your sleep. I get it.” Tucker looks at him intensely and somehow it makes Wash feel guilty for reasons he can’t quite name. “But I’m way more in danger of injuries through teammates every time I move closer than ten feet near Caboose.”

“I see your point but you need to sleep-”

“No buts, Wash!” Tucker says, throwing up his arms. “Just- look, dude. I had this really hot girlfriend back in high school. Like, I’m telling you she was at _least_ a nine. And she used to sleep talk _and_ sleep walk. And boy, you do not wanna know what she sometimes did and said. So anyway, point is, I can handle a fitful sleeper next to me.”

Fitful sleeper is probably the understatement of the century when it comes to Wash's sleeping habits, but Tucker knows that. Tucker knows it and he still offers, even trying to give him the impression it isn't all that bad when Wash _knows_ that it is.

Wash looks away from Tucker at the door, then at the window. When he finds his muddled brain wondering if he even could get out through the window if it didn’t have bars in front of it or if he should give in to the temptation of laying down next to Tucker and having the chance of innocent and accidental touches he decides, _fine,_ Carolina was right. His brain needs a break in form of sleep. He must be worse off than he thought.

“So, are you coming over now or do I have to get up and drag you?”

It’s only now that Wash notices Tucker has literally made zero efforts to get out from under his covers. It seems a little odd, actually, but when Tucker keeps looking at him expectantly Wash finally gives up with a sigh. He slowly walks over to the bed and with another uncertain look at, it sits down. He can feel Tucker's eyes on him. That paired with the fact that he is about to climb into bed with him, Wash's face flushes again. He prays Tucker won’t notice.  
“You can lay down. I don’t bite. Unless, of course, you're into that. In which case, don’t be shy and go ahead and tell me.” He can basically hear the wink in Tucker's voice, and closes his eyes and takes a moment to dwell in the fact that Tucker just knowingly or unknowingly made things harder on him.

When he hangs on the expression of ‘hard on’ he knows his brain is done for.

“ _Wa-ash,_ ” Tucker coos from behind him. “Usually you lay down to sleep in a bed. Jesus, do you need a step by step?”

“I don’t,” Wash insists, his face still burning. He removes his slippers and takes more time doing so than necessary before he finally lays down next to Tucker. He lies stiffly on his back, as close to the edge as he can and with his hands resting on his stomach, eyes on the ceiling. It's awkward and he feels like an idiot, but he doesn't want to get too much into Tucker's space. Seconds after seconds tick by in a silence that very well matches Wash's current feelings.

“Oh my fucking god.” Tucker breaks the silence with a groan and turns to stare at Wash. “This isn’t- that’s just not gonna work. Like, ever. That’s a _b-e-d_ Wash, not a funeral pyre. If you cross your arms over your chest now you’ll pass as a pharaoh.”

“That’s not-” Wash's protest dies in his throat when Tucker just leans over him, reaching for the switch. He holds his breath as he feels the heat coming from Tucker's body. He’s so close, his chest presses against Wash's and his dreads tickle the skin on his neck. ”We're just gonna put out the light and then you go ahead and pretend you are in your bed, sleeping.”

Tucker turns off the light, and the room falls into darkness again. Tucker's whole body falls as well, right there on top of Wash. It does absolutely nothing to help Wash relax. How can he, with Tucker of all people draped all over him? He can feel the heat of radiating off Tucker's body. He tries to shift a little but quickly realizes that this isn’t making it any better. The idea of casual and accidental touches suddenly sounds a lot more like a lapse of his brain function than anything else.

“Geez, you are still like a freaking stone figure here. Let’s just-” Tucker grumbles and pushes himself up. Not to move away as Wash naively might have thought, no. He straightforwardly starts pulling and pushing at him to maneuver him into a different position. Wash allows him, reluctant and tense, to do so, and tries not to make a fool out of himself by struggling like an idiot.

It still takes a ridiculous amount of time before they settle into a position. First it seems that Tucker wants to lay on his back and pull Wash on top of him. The idea itself makes Wash feel flustered and sends his mind to all kind of places it really shouldn’t go. Either Tucker notices this or he comes to another conclusion that makes him abandon his plan in the middle of pulling Wash over.

They lay down on their side next, face to face. But Tucker doesn't seems to know where he wants to put Wash's hands then, or his own. After various tries to arrange their arms (between them, Tuckers arm thrown over Wash's side, one arm under his pillow, both their arms up at their chest, Tucker settling Wash's head on his arm and so on…) Tucker gives up with a miserable moan, and mutters something about this looking easier in movies..

It gets easier to let Tucker maneuver him after a bit. Maybe his brain is calling for sleep enough or maybe it’s just because it shows him clearly that he is not the only one feeling awkward in this super ridiculous situation. It’s almost amusing in its very own way and Tucker's muttered complains get a small unseen smile out of Wash.

They struggle some more, at one point even with the blanket, but eventually they settle down. Wash lays half on his side and half on his stomach, arms around one of the shabby pillows and head rested on it. Tucker is behind him, one arm draped over Wash's side and his hand laying on his arm.

Tucker's warm breath tickles Wash's neck and he finds himself surprised at how nice this feels. There is no other word he would know how to describe this. It’s just _nice,_ plain and simple. The weight Tucker provides like this is comfortable and not anyhow crushing. The warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart that Wash can feel are relaxing, and the tickle his wandering fingers leave on Wash's arm feels really nice too.

“So, think you can sleep now, like that?” Tucker asks after a few minutes of pleasant silence. His voice is hardly more than a mumble against Wash shoulder blades. Wash's eyes have closed of their own accord, and he thinks about it, but the answer is surprisingly easy. Or maybe not so surprisingly. “I… yeah, I guess. Just- if I wake you up-”

“Don’t sweat it” Tucker mutters, and the reassuring squeeze to Wash's arms tells him more than any words could. “Caboose wakes me up sometimes in the middle of night, too. Only difference is that he has less legitimate reasons than you. Like searching for leprechauns or having to add more mustard in the sheets.”

Wash snorts in spite of himself and sags more into the pillow. In this very moment, he wonders why he didn’t go to sleep earlier. It’s so wonderfully warm and nice and soft and sleeping suddenly sounds incredibly great. “Just didn’t want to freak you out or make you uncomfortable.” Wash's words are groggy, but he still wants to tell Tucker this.

His words show more impact than he thought, because suddenly it's Tucker's turn to go all stiff.

“Uh, about that…” he says with a nervous laugh. “So uh, it’s all cool and stuff, don’t worry. Just about my sleeping habits…”

Wash's eyes snap open immediately because he knows Tuckers sleeping habits too well. He had no idea how he could forget this but it _did_ explain that Tucker had made no attempt of getting out of bed before

“I-I won’t do anything weird you don’t want to, just so you know. I uh, well, just thought I should bring up that I’m not really wearing anything,” Tucker says hastily.

Wash takes his time to answer and really, honestly considers it all. Maybe it's not just his own thoughts that went to all kinds of places really quickly lately. Not just his own wishful thinking at noticing how easily Tucker had offered to share his bed with Wash, and the way he did it. How every arrangement had them close, tangled almost, in a way that was not necessary at all. Focuses on Tuckers lingering touch, of his hot breath against his neck.

Thinks about Tuckers words. _Won’t do anything he doesn’t want?_

Wash inhales and exhales slowly and deeply, letting his eyes fall shut again. He’s not sure what makes him do what he does next or if it’s even a good idea, but he goes for it anyway, half asleep and more comfortable than he has been in a long time.

He shifts a little, innocently, with a small sigh. The dark hides the satisfied smile that pulls on his lips when he feels Tucker jump at just where _exactly_ he must have been feeling Wash shifting. “I think we should sleep” Wash said quietly, voice not betraying his smile. “So I’d appreciate if you’d save it for another time to give me ideas, _Captain Tucker_.”

Tucker doesn’t react at all for a number of seconds, almost long enough to worry Wash's muddled brain. But then Tucker halfheartedly shoves him and calls him an asshole and he does it in the weirdest but most affectionate way he could muster, and it’s all Wash needs for now.

Maybe he doesn’t only have an apology for Carolina tomorrow, but also a thanks.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s a rare occurrence that all the Reds and Blues end up having any meal together. With the very real war they have been dragged into, at least one of them is busy in one way or another when the time to eat comes.

Todays late breakfast isn’t any different. And that even though they basically set up the meeting for their latest, war unrelated plan of action, two people still were missing. However, Donut seems to be the only one upset about this, if Sarge's loud proclaim of conspiracy theories of the Blues wasn’t taken into account.

Carolina is hardly surprised by this as she reluctantly makes her way over to for once join her brothers in arms. Brothers in arms in more than just the war, right at the moment.

“Ah-ha!” Sarge hollers as she sets her tray down and removes her helmet. “There ya are, lil’ lady! I was already wondering if you draw in your horns! It must be hard to come and face your enemy again after a humiliating defeat! Gotta hand it to you, not many would have the guts to do so.”

“But Sarge, we’re all in this together!” Donut whines. “Haven’t we been over this?”

Carolina sighs, loud and heavy. “I really don’t know what that is supposed to mean. Nobody is anybody’s enemy here and I literally have no idea against what I would have suffered a defeat.”

“A defeat against us! We told you you couldn’t pull it off and you couldn’t! Why else would you have hesitated to come to our powwow?”

Carolina stares at Sarge, briefly wondering why again she was here. “What you are talking about is a bet, Sarge, one we didn’t take on top of that. 

“Speak for yourself,” Grif says between his cereal, and Simmons nods. Carolina glares at them but then looks around to take in the others. And, Tucker's empty spot. “Besides, I had things to do. Things Tucker should have been helping me with. Where is he even?” She’s only halfway surprised to see them shrug and exchange puzzled looks as if some of them wouldn’t have noticed Tucker's absence all morning. She wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case, either.

“Now that you mention it, he wasn’t there to run laps,” Donut says, tapping his finger against his lips.

“Dunno. Don’t think I saw him either. Probably taking his chance and sleeping in?”

“Ah, uh, I don’t think so,” Caboose says thoughtfully. “I went to wake him up but I think he got lost. His door did too.” Except for some irritated looks, he gets largely ignored.

“Alright, back on track,” Carolina says with a sigh that immediately she has everyone's full attention. She doesn’t exactly like it, mostly because she was going to admit that they were right. “I talked to Wash yesterday and you were right,” she says through gritted teeth. “He was incredibly stubborn and didn’t listen to me at all.”

Grif and Simmons _high five,_ Sarge hollers, "I knew it!’, and Caboose starts clapping for some reason. Only Donut seems to be in dismay about this.

“Guys, if Carolina didn’t manage either then nobody wins. That’s not good.”

Before they could get caught up in their usual pointless bickering, Carolina clears her throat loudly. “Who said anything about failing?” she asks smugly when everyone turns to stare at her. They now all look expectantly at her like kids waiting for a story. Jesus Christ. She clears her throat another time before she starts to talk.

“Alright, well. Wash didn’t listen so I just had to go for more drastic measures.”

“Did you knock him out?”

“What? No! Jesus.”

“Huh. Just wanted to make sure.”

Carolina pinches the bridge of her nose. There are no words to say how ridiculous she feels about what she’s going to say.

“Nothing like that. I just confiscated his data pad and dragged him all the way down the hall to his room." 

They all stare at her before looking at each other slowly.

“Did you say _all the way_ down the hall?” Grif asks her, baffled.

“All the way down the hall, yes.”

“I knew it! I knew this plan would work!”

“Uh, Sarge, _Carolina_ pulling this off is a whole different story from _us_ trying it,” Simmons says, his brow furrowed. His eyes land on Carolina again, curious. “But how did you even keep him there? We had the idea of locking the door from the outside but then we learnt that he’s a lock pick on top of everything else.”

“Uh, hello?” Grif says, waving his spoon. “Am I the only one who’s cluing in to the _all the way down the hall_ thingy?" 

Now it’s Grif's turn to get ignored when Carolinas smug smile returns. “Well, I moved the locker block in front of the door.” Now that she was thinking about it, it probably was about time to go and move it away again.

“Uh… where did you get the locker block from?” Simmons asks her cautiously after they all exchanged looks.

“It was on the wall next to the door.” She's missing something here, Carolina realizes with a very uneasy feeling when they all exchange more looks.

“But isn’t the only locker block…?”

“ _I keep telling you_ ” Grif groans and this time he gestures with the spoon that is full of cereal and throws it all over the table. “ _All the fucking way down the fucking hall_. That’s what she said, right, Carolina? You brought Wash all the way down the hall, right?”

“I- well- yes. Down the hall, to the last door” she says slowly. Everyone shares glances, again, and Donuts face splits into a grin. “Wait, _why_?”

“Look, the reason Tucker isn’t around and Caboose couldn’t find his door is because it was behind a _god damn locker block_. A locker block Carolina thought she put in front of _Wash's_ door." 

They all realize the full extent of the situation at the same time and it’s made clear by a series of different sounds. The most obnoxious is Donut's happy squeal. “Oh my god, this is so _cute_! They will have to share a bed and end up cuddling and maybe even kissing and-”

“Oh my god, Donut, stop. You don’t know that!”

“Simmons is right, and how is that even cute?”

“Are you kidding me? It’s the _c-u-t-e-s-t_ thing ever! Closely followed by mutual pinning which they both totally have going on! I have to admit I’m a real sucker for these things.”

“Son, we don’t want to know what you are sucking.”

“But I want to hear the story of Wash and Tucker kissing, everybody knows they’ll kiss anyway!” 

Carolina doesn’t hear the rest of their conversation and she doesn’t really want to either. She just swings her leg over the bench and marches off. It doesn’t go unnoticed though and Grif hollers across the whole mess hall “Tell me if they fucked and the position! I’m still in the bet!”

Now she’s wondering if she actually wants to move the locker block and see what’s behind it.

“Well, there is that song from The Offspring’s, a really fucking old band. And it goes something along the line of ‘I don’t wanna tell I told you so but I told you so’, you know that? It fits,.” Church taunts in the back of her mind, that smug little asshole.

“Shut up and don’t act like you have noticed, because I know you didn’t.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Salt for inspiring me to this and for the wonderful job as beta she did. I'm not a native english and she was so kind to help fix some things for me :)


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